


The Height of Forgetfulness

by onward_came_the_meteors



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers Tower, Character Study, Domestic Avengers, Gen, One Shot, POV Steve Rogers, POV Third Person, Post-Avengers (2012), Ratings: G, Sad and Happy, Sleep Deprivation, Some Humor, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors
Summary: Sometimes Steve forgets he isn't 5'4.Especially in the middle of the night.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	The Height of Forgetfulness

2:47.

It was 2:47 at night, and all Steve Rogers could think about while lying on his side, staring at the blinking red numbers on the alarm clock, was how much he wanted a glass of water.

He'd woken up about half an hour ago, his throat completely dry after yet another dream full of screams and gunshots, and hadn't been able to go back to sleep.

So he'd lain there, underneath the sheets—it was just ridiculous to expect him to have a comforter—and watched the numbers on the clock slowly flip from one to the other. 

His eyelids were like cinder blocks, and his thoughts kept drifting, half in a dream already, but he couldn't fall asleep. 

And if he got out of bed to get that drink of water, then he'd never be able to fall asleep.

2:48.

He could stay awake all night, right? He'd done it before: in the army back in the 40's, beating up punching bags in the gym at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, even plenty of times here at the tower, whenever the memories got to be too much. The rest of the team never mentioned it; all of them had the same problems. If anything, Tony would just make a joke about it and continue with whatever gadget he was making.

"Course you can't fall asleep, you've already taken a seventy-year nap."

"The true spirit of America, everyone! Freedom and justice that never rests!"

"I guess the unknown side effects of that supersoldier serum included sleeping with your eyes open, huh?"

So, yeah. Him staying up all night wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. He might as well get his water and accept that he wasn't going to sleep tonight.

But… so… tired… 

And thirsty. Throat sand now. 

2:49. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

"I give up," Steve muttered, kicking off the sheets and struggling out of bed. His room was completely dark—and the serum hadn't given him night vision—so he awkwardly stumbled to the door, tripping over a sweatshirt he'd left on the floor earlier. 

His door opened with a creak and he nearly fell into the pitch-black hallway.

How could Tony Stark be a genius and not have any windows in his freaking hallways?

Groping at the wall with a hand, he blindly made his way down the hallway and into the small kitchen. There was one of those on almost every floor, which had seemed over-the-top to Steve when he'd first discovered it, but on second thought was kind of practical. 

And surprise, surprise, the kitchen was just as dark as the rest of the floor. 

Well, he was not blinding himself by turning on a light, so he was getting his water in the dark if he had to.

Steve carefully walked into the kitchen, his bare feet on the cold tiles. He felt the edge of a counter on his right, and reached up to find a cupboard. Perfect.

He opened it, and there was just enough light to see that all the cups were on the top shelf. Not perfect.

And if he remembered correctly, this stupid kitchen had chairs that were attached to the floor. 

What were the chances that there would be a stool lying around Stark Tower? 

He cast his exhausted mind around, thinking of all the rooms he'd been in when the Avengers had gotten their "grand tour." 

"You guys can basically go anywhere," Tony had said. "Except the labs, cause I'm assuming you don't want to be involved in any explosions—besides you, Bruce, I know you love explosions—but everywhere else? Super-playground." 

And at the time, Steve and the others had laughed, nodded… and basically kept to the same five spots. Result being? Steve didn't actually know the tower very well, and definitely couldn't think of the best places to find a stool. 

Wait a second… maybe he could.

The team had been eating dinner a few weeks ago, and the conversation had somehow turned to what career they all thought they would have if it weren't for the superhero thing. They'd gone around the table, and when it was Steve's turn, he'd mentioned something about how he'd liked art back in the 1940s. 

It was just an offhand comment, but Tony had nodded a little too seriously and asked a couple questions that were a little too specific, and the next day there was an art studio in Avengers Tower. 

Steve had protested and said he didn't need one, but Tony just pretended that it had been there the whole time and, Steve, you're going to let this perfectly good room go to waste? How could Captain America be so careless, and on and on until Steve finally caved and started using it. And it was a nice little studio, with plenty of supplies, but that wasn't important right now.

What was important was that it had a stool. 

So Steve—still exhausted and still in the dark—somehow made it back through the hallway and to the right until he found the room, opened the door, picked up the stool, and carried it back to the kitchen without 1) dropping said stool, 2) tripping and falling on his face, or 3) walking into a wall or down a flight of stairs.

And they said fighting aliens would be the hardest thing I did this year, Steve thought sarcastically. 

All of his caution shattered, however, when he tried to set down the stool, set it on his foot, yelled, and sent the stool hurtling across the room, where it landed with the loudest CRASH Steve had ever heard in his life. 

Oh, for the love of—

He could hear doors opening and footsteps hurrying to investigate the noise, but he didn't bother to move and soon enough, the lights flicked on in the kitchen and the whole Avengers team found Steve Rogers standing there in his pajamas staring at a fallen stool. 

"Uh… Cap?" Clint finally asked. The archer had apparently shot straight there from being asleep; he was only wearing boxers and his quiver, his bow gripped loosely in his hand. "Everything okay in here?" 

Steve rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I couldn't sleep." 

The absurd obviousness of that statement took a moment to sink in.

"So what was that noise?" Natasha finally asked. She was thankfully more clothed then Hawkeye, in a long T-shirt that reached to her knees, but her hair was a curly mess. 

"I wanted to get a drink, so I got the stool to reach the glasses, but I dropped it," Steve explained. He was really too tired to be having this conversation.

Tony, who Steve was really expecting to have said something before now, broke in. "Whoa, whoa. Back it up. You needed a stool to reach the top shelf?" 

Steve frowned. His thoughts were forming slowly through a haze of exhaustion, but… "oh." 

He looked over at the cupboard, now easy to see in the bright overhead light. He was easily eye level with the shelf in question.

"I guess I kinda… forgot," Steve continued. "That I'm… a lot taller now." 

He remembered being the little guy back home, always having to find step stools and boxes and chairs to stand on, or asking Bucky for help. Apparently the instincts never went away even after seventy years. 

Steve slowly crossed the room and righted the stool. He could move it back to the studio in the morning. For some reason, he didn't really feel thirsty anymore.

"Hey." Tony followed him and spun the stool out of the way. "Since I highly doubt any of us are going to sleep tonight—no, no, no guilty Cap face, I was already awake and I'm willing to bet the Spy Twins here were too—what do you say we catch you up on more twenty-first century culture?" 

"What did you have in mind?" Steve asked. 

Clint groaned. "Please, no more terrible music. Cap, you have to know that any songs he has you listen will not make you more adjusted to the modern world, just to his brain." 

"First: you listen to country music, I'm not taking criticism from you," Tony said matter-of-factly. "Second: my brain is a wonderful place to get adjusted to, thanks, and third: I was thinking about a movie, anyway." 

"At three in the morning?" 

"My tower, my time zone." 

"Your reasoning's just a little off there," Natasha grinned. 

"Come on, Romanoff. Cap? You in?" 

Steve didn't answer for a moment. Only a few minutes ago, he had been in bed, exhausted and alone in the dark after being hit by memories. And now he was in a brightly lit kitchen surrounded by his friends, who wanted to watch a movie with him. And strangely, he didn't feel so tired now.

He was in the twenty-first century now, and yeah, part of his mind was still in the twentieth. 

But that part didn't have to win right now.

Steve smiled. "A movie sounds great."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
